Between the Lines
by larsfarm77
Summary: Written for A/R MOL, prompt: gun. Kara threatens Laura at gunpoint, leaving Bill with a difficult choice. Spackle for 4x02.
1. Part 1

Thanks to TJonesy and Innealta for beta work, encouragement and ideas.

Between the Lines

"Move."

The room tilts and spins, and Laura's mouth drops open. She takes short sips of air, fighting nausea with every breath. Her hands tingle and her palms are clammy, moist with sweat. She glances down at her feet, to the one spot on the floor that isn't moving, and steps forward, the motion bringing bile to the edge of her throat. She swallows it back.

"Move!"

She forces her arms to swing, to generate enough momentum, and then she's walking. Her eyes return to that spot on the floor.

Kara swings behind her, "C'mon. Move, c'mon!" Laura grimaces at the cramping in her stomach, her breath hitching when the pain radiates down her abdomen. Her mouth has gone dry, her skin cold.

"Over by the couch, now."

The barrel of Kara's gun fills the centre of her vision when Kara shuts the hatch. The noise is louder than it should be. It shouldn't hurt … everything hurts. Laura forces her eyes up, her focus on Kara's angry glare and not the room that spins around her.

* * *

Surface of Kobol,

Two years ago.

The sky was heavy with cloud the colour of random static on a Dradis screen. Though it was a change from the endless blackness of the last few space bound months, Kara couldn't convince herself that she found it enjoyable. Afternoon had shifted to evening with nothing more remarkable than a slow darkening of the ever present grey. At least it had stopped raining. Moisture had seeped into her boots, her pack, even her underwear felt cold and damp against her skin. The sooner they got a fire going, _if _they could get a fire going, the better, as the air was so heavy there was no hope of airing dry.

She twisted her way to where President Roslin had a small lean to under a dark canopy of trees, cursing Lee just a little bit for taking first watch. He was Roslin's military advisor; he should have been the one to update her on their plan of approach to the gnarled ridge ahead.

_The rain was beating down so hard it was difficult to see. One minute Kara was making steady progress up the soaked embankment, her toes struggling to find a hold against the slick grass, rock, and mud, the next she was half on her ass, a dripping black form crumpled underneath her. A flash of red hair told her who had fallen into her, and she grabbed onto the woman reflexively as they began to skid. _

Kara wasn't sure exactly what made her nervous. Sometimes, standing in Roslin's presence, she felt like she was naked, like Roslin could see every flaw and personal failure as if there were runway markers lighting the way. Other times, her own religious convictions had her somewhat in awe of the woman. Kara was sure she had never been in the presence of a prophet before, her many military commanders and their estimates of her odds of survival notwithstanding, and as much as she was drawn to the hope that Roslin represented, misplaced trust had scarred her before. It was also frustrating, never knowing whether to kneel or salute.

_Dirt rode up Kara's fingernails as she sought purchase enough to stop their slide. There was a muffled cry from Roslin as they slid over a rockier part of the incline. Kara was grateful that the older woman's body partially protected the barely healed scars on her abdomen. She saw Roslin's hand close around a jagged stone. She pressed down hard with her feet as Roslin's arm went taut, trying to take the brunt of their weight as they came to a stop. Water trickled down the slope underneath them, and the muscles in Kara's legs burned; her body was pressed so hard down onto Roslin that she could feel the woman's heavy breaths. It was impossible to hear anything against the drumming of the rain, pointless to ask if the President was okay. They simply sorted themselves out, and Kara watched Roslin resume the climb. Kara wanted to scream, to swear at the sky, at the rain, at the very Gods that had led them here. She found that she couldn't hold on to her anger and frustration when an aging, sick, and untrained woman could find the will to silently push forward again. _

"I wanna hate you so much … " The girl speaks over the barrel of the gun, her eyes narrowing, "so much." She begins to walk toward Laura, pointing the gun at her neck. "You had a vision, remember, the arrow, the temple. I went down to that planet with you, and it was a frakking toaster party," Kara spits. Laura licks her bottom lip, swaying a little. "A lot of good people died, remember?"

"Yes, I do," Laura manages. An image of a book settles in her mind, its soaked pages streaked with blood that slowly runs from the watery paper in much the way it did along Elosha's dark cheek.

"I trusted you, on a vision. That's it – a vision."

Laura narrows her eyes a little at Kara, still keeping eye contact.

"I saw Earth. I saw it with my own eyes." Her gaze turns from angry to pleading. "It's calling me back. We're going the wrong way," Kara says, a whine in her voice. She drops the gun to her thigh. "Why can't you trust me?"

* * *

Kobol

Kara ducked under a low hanging branch, and heavy drops of water hit her hair and back. Finding Roslin seated on a muted green tarp, she drew up to attention. Lee had told her that Commander Adama had stripped Roslin of her position, but Kara just couldn't deal with the woman on any other level.

"Madam President."

Roslin hissed quietly, before answering in a voice that barely masked fatigue. "At ease, Lieutenant, please," she sighed gently, seemingly unhappy with Kara's less formal, but still rigid stance, "sit."

Kara's gaze cast about awkwardly before she really looked at Roslin. The President was bent over, her matted auburn hair obscuring her face, as she peeled a heavily soaked sock from her foot. The material stuck in places, and Kara could see the dark patches of blood on the material, and then on Roslin's skin.

_Gods, you look like Tom Vasquez during basic … only he had the frakking worst case of toe fungus I've ever …_

Roslin looked up then, probably wondering why Kara still hadn't sat down, and caught the scrutiny.

"I'd love to speak to whomever decided to outfit the military in these boots." The President cracked a half smile and gestured flippantly to the borrowed footwear that sat discarded on the ground next to her tarp. "They're fired."

Kara snickered. "All the comfort of plywood." She sat down near Roslin to get a better look. Several ruptured blisters dotted her ankles and the sides of her feet. "Best thing you can do is let them dry," she said and then caught Roslin's glare, "which … is damned near impossible given the circumstances. I'll get a med kit."

"Lieutenant—" she heard Roslin say, but she was already reaching for the kit and a well-worn bag that sat beside it, finally feeling she had a handle on the situation.

Kara rummaged through the bag. "Look, the last thing you want is an infection … and … ah … do you really want Tom Zarek to have to carry you into the tomb of Athena?"

Roslin tipped her head toward Kara. "You have a point."

"Here." Settling back beside the President, Kara pulled a half filled bottle from the bag and set it against the outside of Roslin's thigh, before opening the med kit.

"What is it?"

"Ambrosia. Vintage ain't half bad. I nicked it from a shop on Caprica before I left, and before you ask, I haven't touched it. Figured you might want to take the edge off."

"Thank you for the thought, Lieutenant," Roslin replied, but didn't take the bottle.

Kara shrugged, pouring a small amount of medicinal alcohol over the gauze pad in her hand. "Your choice, but this is gonna sting." _It's gonna hurt like a bitch, actually._

"Won't mix well with my—" Roslin hissed loudly in reaction to Kara placing the gauze over a weeping blister on her heel, "medication."

_Why do you always have to do the wrong thing? She doesn't want a frakking drink; she's not your friend. She's dying, you idiot._

Kara turned Roslin's foot in her hand, exposing the blisters on the inside, and cleaned them carefully. She brushed away Roslin's attempt to take the bottle of antibiotic cream from her, anger at her own stupidity too close to the surface. "I practically grew up in these boots, okay? I know what I'm doing." _And it's a hell of a lot easier to talk to you if I have something to do._

Roslin said nothing, just shifted her weight back onto her hands. Kara concentrated on applying the ointment, covering each blister with gauze padding and sealing them with the thin white tape from the med kit. She was aware of Roslin watching her. She found the silence awkward, but no matter how hard she racked her brain, she could think of nothing to say. It was Roslin who finally spared them.

"What was it that changed your mind?" she asked, shifting so Kara could access her other foot.

"About what?"

Roslin spoke through clenched teeth. "The mission to Caprica, to retrieve the arrow. I have to admit I wasn't sure I had convinced you."

"You hadn't."

Roslin tilted her head expectantly.

Kara finished with Roslin's feet. "In the morning, I'll help you pack your boots. It won't be comfortable, but it'll keep the friction down."

"Thank you." Roslin's voice still had a question in it, and Kara knew it was pointless to hedge again. She sat beside her, happy it was too dark for Roslin to see her face. It was easier to talk to the air in front of her.

"It … um … it's stupid."

_And I don't really want to have this conversation. You'll think I'm a child._

"I believe the word you used back then was crazy."

Kara sniffed, words bubbling to the surface despite her misgivings. "You know what's crazy? Finally finding something … someone … that you can believe in, who knows who you are and stands by you anyway." After all the frustration and discomfort of the day, it feels good to vent into the black. She reaches out and begins to toy with some loose fibres on the tarp, unable to keep her hands still_._ "You'd do anything … anything for him … so you don't see it coming. You ask him a question, and suddenly he can't look you in the eye."

"You asked him about Earth."

Kara's head dropped. _She's too damn smart, too perceptive … or am I just that frakking transparent?_

"He's never lied to me, and the truth is it pissed me off, okay? It pissed me off. How many times did I put my ass on the line and for what?" Kara turned away from Roslin, busying herself with putting away the ointment and tape. "So, no, I didn't do it for you, Madam President."

_Selfish. Add it to the list._

"He's had to live with that lie, Kara, and he would have gone right on living with it, because it gave people hope."

"A lie is not hope."

From the sound of her voice, Roslin had turned toward her. "What if the Gods don't exist? Over how many years will that lie have sustained billions?"

Kara rested her forearms on her knees and spoke quietly. "Isn't that what we're doing here, though? You told me you thought the prophecy was real. There's something here. I feet it. I feel it when I look at you … which, um, pretty much freaks me out." A nervous giggle escapes her.

_No, Kara, admit it, what really scares you is just how far you might follow her._

* * *

Laura watches as Kara does something complicated with the gun, twisting it easily with a flick of her wrist. A muted whine sounds and Laura realizes what Kara has done. The gun hadn't been loaded, until now. Kara flips it around, holding it out to her. She shakes it in Laura's face, startling her repeatedly. "Shoot me. If you think I'm a Cylon then I'm your enemy. Shoot your enemy." Laura can do nothing but stare. She doesn't move except to breathe. Kara slams the gun onto the table beside Laura yelling, "take it!"

Laura's vision wavers. Her body feels heavy, and she craves something to hold on to, a solid surface to chase the feeling of drifting that has her stomach roiling loudly. If Lee hadn't told her, if she hadn't seen the despair in the Admiral's eyes, the girl in front of her would not seem suspicious in the least. She moved like Kara, talked like her, and even had that spark of something wild that made you wonder if you could ever be truly safe with her, that spark that was the difference between a viper cockpit and a desk chair. Suddenly Bill's voice is in her head: _they'll try to confuse you, don't trust them._

Kara brings Laura's attention back to her with a low whisper. "I'm no more a Cylon than you are, and you know it." She turns her back on the President and the gun beside her, the move a taunt laced with false bravado.

Boomer had friends, a lover, a place in _Galactica'_s family, all of it the result of clever programming. All she can see is Bill, a fresh pink scar blurring the entry wounds of two bullets from Boomer's gun.

"I wish I did." Laura's whisper is scant. Kara's reaction is explosive, her words like the gunshots she's longed to take.

"I've put my life on the line for this frakking ship. I've ate, slept, fought next to the people that I love. I have pissed off my friends. I've broken more rules that I've followed. I've frakked up, okay, I've messed up!" Laura doesn't react, just lets the girl's anger bounce off her rigid form. Kara's voice drops; she seems a little incredulous that Laura hasn't reacted. "But it's all that I have. Those people are my family, and none of us belong here."

* * *

Kobol.

"Did you see him, Adama I mean, were you there when he was shot?"

"No, I wasn't." Roslin was quiet so long that Kara started to get uncomfortable. "I saw Captain Apollo, actually." Her voice was steady, but tight with the effort to keep it that way.

"Lee? Wait a minute … you were … he was … in the brig."

Roslin might have nodded, but it was too dark to see. "It's a tough image to shake. His arms were soaked in blood up to the elbow. His eyes were wild. I was the reason he was stuck in that cell while his father..." There was regret and guilt in Roslin's tone, and despite the shock of the image the woman had presented her, Kara couldn't bite back her opinion.

"No way. Lee is quite capable of making his own stupid decisions. If he ended up in a cell, then it's because he felt it was the right thing to do. Guy's a frakking boy scout, sometimes." It took a few seconds for Kara to realize that she had insulted both her President and her commanding officer. "Sorry, Madam President, that didn't come out quite right."

Roslin snickered lightly. "Do you know how many people actually say what they mean around me?"

"So I'm forgiven?"

"Let's just say that I'd like you to continue."

"You might regret that, ma'am." _Oh my Gods. I'm bantering with the President of the Colonies. Frak me._

"Hmm," there was a smile in Roslin's voice. "I guess I'm just too frakking soaked to care."

Kara's laughter spilled out unbridled. She wasn't used to this; she usually considered it enough to learn what pushed a commanding officer's buttons, and left it at that. She couldn't remember ever seeing the President let her guard down for anyone, not even the Old Man … especially not the Old Man.

Where was he now? What would it be like to see him again, broken, and weak?

She felt for the bottle of Ambrosia that sat on the tarp beside Roslin. It felt good to hold it, even if a drink was out of the question. The next watch was hers.

"You know I'm almost glad I wasn't there." She thumbed the label on the bottle, peeling it back a little from the glass. "It might have been me in that cell, not Cally." Her voice softened. "I don't think … I don't think I could see him like that."

"Mmm." Roslin was quiet again, and Kara could feel her shifting beside her. She marvelled at her ability to leave a politician without words, and listened to the nocturnal sounds of the forest surrounding them, instinctively searching for anything artificial. "I think," Roslin said finally, "that he would want to see you."

"How would you know?" Kara snapped, without thinking. "You didn't have to stand in front of him and tell him why he lost his son. You didn't get pissed and steal his only tactical advantage against the Cylons." Immediately regretting the embarrassing outburst, she chuckled ruefully. "See, told you you'd regret asking me to speak freely."

"I see." Roslin didn't sound pissed at all. "Let's forget for a minute, what you or I may have done. Do you think, that if it had been me on that godsforsaken moon that day, he would have stayed that long? Expended those resources?"

That stopped her cold.

K_ara … you did good. You did real good. _

The memory was so clear, so rich, the warmth of his hand, the feel of his lips on her forehead, the look on his face when he handed her his last cigar. Absolution. Acceptance. Love. Everything she didn't deserve.

"I don't know," her voice was barely a whisper, and tears pricked at the edges of her vision. "Maybe. He … um … he has a thing for strays."

Roslin hesitated before she uttered a simple: "Ah."

_Not the answer you were looking for, huh. Too busy hating him for throwing you in the brig?_

Roslin's hand was cool against her shoulder. "He's back in command, Kara. He's back. " There was a hint of something in Roslin's voice, a softness in the way she spoke the words. Relief? Regret? Whatever it was, it surprised Kara.

_Nice to know you care, Madam President._

Kara put a tentative hand over Roslin's before shrugging it off. "I'll get you a blanket, ma'am. Tomorrow we head east along the ridge line."

"East." Roslin's voice was even, flat, Presidential.

Kara regretted hearing it.

* * *

"Shoot me! If I'm a Cylon, shoot me!"

_Two bullets. One scar. Misplaced trust rewarded with violence._

"They've made you perfect." Moving for the first time, Laura grabs the gun and fires without hesitation.

Glass shatters. Marines burst in and take Kara to the floor. She thrashes against their grip, screaming. Warm, thin hands wrap around hers, and she looks up to see Tigh, as he takes the gun from her.

Adama enters, his voice barely audible over Starbuck's screaming. "You alright?" He puts an arm around Laura's back. Laura nods a little; she realizes it's a mistake, when bile coats the back of her throat.

_So clear …_ she leans into Bill's hand …_ losing it … half what it was … _he rubs along her heated skin through the blouse, the motion rhythmic and comforting … _slipping … gone … what we wanted … Earth … _Kara's been talking continuously, her voice shifting tone between anger and desperation, but only these scant words penetrate Laura's awareness. It's all she can do to remain standing. She wants Kara gone, everyone gone, because when she falls, and it's inevitable now, it won't be Presidential or graceful. It's not the weakness that scares her, it's how that weakness will be perceived by those still in the room.

"You better work on your aim, because I'm not going to stop", she escalates to a yell, "you're gonna have to kill me! One more jump and it'll be gone."

The marines pull a wailing Kara from the room; Laura can hear Tigh when he leans towards Bill to mutter: "I'll take care of it," and he and Helo follow the marines out. Bill's fingers curl gently around her hip; he speaks softly.

"Can you make it to the head?"

This time she has the sense not to move. "No." Her stomach is cramping, and she begins to fold. Bill's motion is a blur; a cold ceramic bowl presses into her hands an instant before she loses her stomach. The shock of her knees hitting the floor reverberates through her entire body, racked as it is with spasm after spasm. She's barely aware of Bill's hands on her back, her face. It's too long before she's gasping, a long tendril of spit trailing from her mouth to the bowl, a shaky kind of relief settling over her that has no hope of lasting. Exhausted, she can do nothing but slump to her side on the floor.

* * *

Concluded in part 2 (tomorrow). Comments are welcome!


	2. Part 2

Thanks to tjonesy and innealta for beta work. Love you guys.

Bill's POV ...

Kobol.

He was outside, on real dirt and grass, breathing fresh air for the first time in over a year, yet he couldn't remember ever being so uncomfortable in his life. The rain fell in sheets, and though the majority was captured by the tarp over their heads, random gusts of wind blew in enough of the heavy drops to soak the entire length of his left side.

It was pitch black, the darkness freakishly illuminated every few minutes by a flash of bluish-yellow lightning. On his side, he shifted on the uneven ground, and his hand pressed against his chest. At the moment, it felt like his hand was the only thing keeping his insides from spreading across the thick, green material that he shared with Laura. The dull, heavily medicated ache from the barely healed rent in his chest had begun to sharpen, and he rolled onto his back. With no discernable exit for his insides in this position, he began to search through the pockets of his combat jacket.

Virtually blind, he fumbled for his pain medication, cursing as the rain soaked through yet another side of his combat fatigues.

_Of all the gods forsaken planets in the universe, the woman has to choose the nastiest one._

He took the pills dry, not at all amused when they stuck in his throat. His entire body was soaked, yet there wasn't enough moisture in his mouth to swallow his pills.

Lightning flashed again, and before his vision went white, he caught sight of Laura's form. She was huddled not two feet from him, a sweater and a thin grey blanket adding bulk to her silhouette. It wasn't until a third flash, that he realized she was shaking.

_Damn._

He considered his options. Maybe in a few minutes, when the medication began to take hold, he'd be able to turn onto his side again. His stomach swam at the mere idea. Assuming that accomplished, it wouldn't take much to reach out and tuck her back against his chest. Would she resist? It was such a tentative truce that they had formed. After everything they'd been through, he might have earned the privilege of using her first name, but surely he was crazy to think she'd let him hold her.

_Don't be an idiot. She's obviously cold, and it's not like you're making any kind of move._

_How will she know that?_

Between the rain and the wind and the lightning, he wouldn't be able to talk to her, tell her he just wanted to keep her warm. And what if, during one of those bright flashes, Lee or Kara or some random member of the tactical team saw them and took things the wrong way? What if others woke before them in the morning?

He looked again at Laura, her trembling form curled tighter than before, and wondered if there would be a time when he would be able to look at her and not feel frustration or irritation. How could things between them have become so complicated that he was unable to provide simple comfort?

* * *

"Okay," _that was gross, _"okay." Bill wonders just exactly who he's reassuring, as he gently pulls Laura's hair away from her face. His uniform sleeve passes before his eyes, and he notes that this too is a casualty, along with Laura's chin, her shirt, and a small amount of the grey deck plating in his quarters.

_You're a fool, old man. A sentimental fool._

From the moment he saw Kara again, all fire and energy and youth, she drew him in. His daughter was back, and no amount of suspicious circumstances changed that simple fact. He had trusted her for so long, that he did it without thinking. He looked at her and he stopped hurting. Nothing else mattered.

Taking the bowl with him, he walks to the head, where he makes a right mess of the toilet trying to clean the heavy basin. It was a gift, from some brown nosed politician who'd obviously been looking for military endorsement; its new purpose is somehow vastly more fitting. Rinsing the bowl, he procures a small washcloth, soaking it with cool water. He kneels beside Laura, setting the bowl within her reach, and gently cleans her face and neck. She stirs, mumbling something under her breath, her head leaning slightly into his hand.

_You were sentimental, and it could have cost you both of them. You should have put her in the brig the moment you saw her._

Laura grabs his arm, and he helps her to her side so she can be sick again. He gently strokes her forehead and the sides of her face and neck, strangely guilty at the opportunity to hold her, touch her like this, while at the same time wishing he could do more. He has always been a man who sees a problem, looks for solutions and then fixes it. Nothing at his command could take this from Laura, and he hadn't realized how overwhelmed he would feel back when he'd offered her his quarters.

Now, all he could think about, all he could see in his mind was Kara forcing a sick woman from her bed at gunpoint because of what she believed. He feels anger rising.

_I'm not going to stop. You're going to have to kill me._

It was three more times before Laura fell asleep against his chest.

_Face it, Bill. You're gonna have to choose._

* * *

One hour later.

Bill walks into the brig and slides the cell door closed behind him. Kara is standing. He can hear nothing but the sound of his footsteps on the hard, metal, deck.

_It's you. I know it; I feel it. Why would you do this to me? _

His voice is tight, a rough, barely restrained whisper. His eyes reflect a frightening mixture of anger and hurt. "What were you doing?" He lunges toward her suddenly, enjoying the intimidation written on her face. "What were you thinking?" Kara's lips are quivering; she blinks in surprise as he spits the words. "What happened to you?

_How could you do this?_

He presses his lips tight together, so he won't yell, won't swear. Had it been anyone else, he would have opened this conversation with his fist. Even now, it's a near thing.

Kara, her voice high pitched and desperate: "I saw Earth." It disappoints him that she isn't more composed. He didn't come for more screaming and whining. "The shape of it, the smell of it, the feel of it on my skin … in my pores, and I swear to you it was like I had been there before." She swallows hard and shakes her head. Her words come out on a sob. "Like I never left."

_How could you?_

He just stares, ignoring what she said. "You're too stupid to figure out that you just screwed over the one ally that you had. You didn't have the guts to hold on." He steps farther into her personal space. "Tell me," he softens his voice, almost taunting now, and whispers, "who's gonna help you?" It's the hurt talking, and it feels good.

"Yeah, frak me, huh? Sure as hell isn't going to be you." Her voice is still shaky, but she doesn't look away. A lesser person would have looked away long ago. "You've gotta remind yourself that you're somebody else." She pauses now, her voice eerily steady. "You're the President's wet nurse. " He can feel his control slipping, when she pauses a second time. He wonders if she can smell it on his uniform. "You don't have the guts."

It's too much. It doesn't matter if it's true or not. The words are hardly out of her mouth before he grabs her, teeth gritting, anger and frustration and hurt so overwhelming that he can't hold back. He slams her to the floor. He can feel and hear the breath forced from her lungs. She cries out, and he doesn't care, dropping to his knees and hanging over her like a predator over his prey.

_You put a gun in the face of a dying woman, and you talk to me about guts?_

He's holding her too hard. He doesn't let go, and neither does she, her hand clamped around his wrist. Her breathing is shallow, her words a dry whisper. "Nice to know you still care, Admiral." The cell floor is metal. It has no give. Pain has to be arcing along her back and neck, but still she doesn't break eye contact.

He lets go, not caring if her head slams back against the floor. She starts to cry. He turns away realizing that it's not a cry at all. She's laughing, laughing at some joke that only the recently dead can hear.

_You're the President's wet nurse … wet nurse …_

He doesn't look back, further venting his anger by sliding the cell door closed hard enough to shake the surrounding bars. He hears her scream, all pain and desperation and insanity: "We're going the wrong way!"

_That's not who I am._

* * *

The room is quiet. He can still smell, almost taste, a tang of sickness that the recycling air can't completely remove. A single light shines orange on the table beside the couch; the back section of his quarters is dark with shadow. The room is too warm, a concession to her and the treatments which leave her frail and cold. His steps are a bit unsteady; the sounds of his movements lost in the drunken haze that still envelopes his brain.

For now, he ignores that she may be there, and slowly unfastens the buttons on his uniform jacket. He gives it a shake to work out the creases before laying it neatly over the back of the sofa.

"_I am not going to apologize to you for not trusting her."_

He shakes his head in an attempt to purge the voice, but it only sends a wave of nausea up from his stomach. Dropping onto the sofa, he removes his boots and socks, not bothering to be quiet with the Velcro flaps. He doesn't stand to remove his uniform pants, just lifts his hips and shoves them to the floor. He kicks them off and leaves them where they land.

"_You would rather be wrong about her and face your own demise, than risk losing her again."_

He lay back against the cool leather. The sweat on his shoulders and the backs of his legs sticks against the cushions. His vision swims, swirling the beams and pipes that line the ceiling of his quarters. Tilting his head forward again, he catches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and squeezes, before resting his forearms on his thighs, his hands hanging loosely between his legs.

Ignoring the uncomfortably full feeling in his bladder, he takes long, slow breaths through his nose and enjoys the silence in his cabin. No one is screaming or retching on the floor. No one is forcing him to listen to words he doesn't want to hear.

"_We're standing on it. We're standing on Earth."_

_A young woman with an arrow. A dying woman holding a bloody tome. Standing on an impossible simulation of Earth, together._

Sitting alone, he finds he has no further understanding of prophecy or death or the will of the Gods than he had before this desperate journey began. He has only his desires and his fears, and in the silence he sees them clearly.

He sees Laura, sitting across from him mere hours after the first fleet wide elections, her nose running and tears staining her face. What had truly driven him to encourage her not to steal the results of the election? Was it just because it was the right thing to do?He realizes that he really did have a stake in abandoning the search for Earth, in wanting to make New Caprica work because … because it meant that no prophecy would dictate what happened to Laura. She would be well and truly free.

It was selfish, he had been making a play to keep her without truly having had her at all. He sees the same out with Kara, _if _Kara was truly destined to lead them to Earth, then didn't that take Laura off the hook again?

_There is no prophecy of death surrounding Kara._

Somewhere between the hum of the engine and the hiss of the O2 scrubbers, he hears her. Soft, even breaths, a long, distinctly womanly snore that brings a smile to the edge of his lips. Part of him is happy to find her asleep. He doesn't want to face her now, their argument still a bitter taste in his mouth.

He stands slowly, walks to his meagre bar, and pours a glass of water. He takes it with him into the head, setting it on the counter before relieving his overfull bladder and splashing water on his face. Dutifully knocking back the glass of water, he leaves the glass in the head. He turns to exit, but ends up leaning against the doorframe, still not used to the sight of her curled up in his rack. He never imagined they'd be doing _that _much sleeping there or that he'd find himself on the couch for very long. It seems that expectation and reality seldom measure up. He only wishes that were true for prophecy as well.

Quietly, he sets a chair beside the bed and sits, content for a little while to watch her sleep. He feels like a coward, not being able to resist the urge to tell her of his decision when she can't react, or second guess.

He clears his throat, but it doesn't do much to take the gravel from his voice. "Took me too long to realize that what I thought was a choice, really wasn't one at all," he begins, clasping his hands over his lap. "I'm gonna give Kara a ship, and I'm gonna let her go. You were right. I can't lose her anymore than I can you, or my son, or what I believe.

"I will walk with you, every step on this journey, but I will not concede to the inevitability of its end. Call it whatever you want, tear a strip off me for making this decision without you." He runs the back of his knuckle along the soft skin of her upper arm where it lays against the sheets. "Just don't make me sit back and accept this fate of yours. I can't and I won't. Not until I know I've done everything I can. I couldn't live with it any other way."

He traces the delicate fingers of her hand, watching her face. Her breathing remains steady, a thin line of drool glistens on the chin of her slightly open mouth. "I'd rather live with you."

Fin.

Thanks for reading, love hearing what you think :).


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